The Stuff Romance Novels are Made of
by cataclysmically starry-minded
Summary: In a way, Tonks could blame the amusing qualities of her trashy romance novel to ending up attached to the lips of Remus Lupin. RLNT


The Stuff Romance Novels are Made of

I don't own Harry Potter

A/n: I can't believe that I actually wrote this...I've been reading so much Remus/Tonks lately that I practically dream about it but I never thought I could write it. I think I've been reading too many trashy romance novels; they were the inspiration for this. Anyway, I guess I could've made it more graphic in the end, considering all the crap I read...but I don't want the police bearing down on me. I hope this isn't complete crap.

At first he couldn't place the foreign sound that emanated from the sitting room, so long had it been since he last heard it. Her laughter was genuine, not forced as it had been in months past, and the sound of it was enough to make something stir in Remus' stomach. His hand paused on the doorknob, unwilling to enter and disrupt whatever she was doing that made her so happy. Rationally, he knew he should continue to his room; if he went in there, he wasn't sure what would happen and Remus Lupin had long since become wary of any sort of unpredictability. But he turned the knob quietly and slowly pushed the door open, almost as if he were a peeping tom, hiding for that one forbidden glimpse.

She didn't notice the door open, so involved was she in laughing at her book. Slowly, Remus scanned her, drinking in the sight of her even as his internal monologue told him to leave, that he shouldn't be doing this, watching her, wanting her... She quieted for a moment, took a sip from her mug, which was giving off a faint scent of chocolate, before bursting into exuberant giggles again, her eyes never leaving the text of her novel. It was only then that Remus realized that she looked distinctly different, distinctly un-Tonks-ish. Her hair wasn't unnaturally colored today, nor were her eyes. She hadn't morphed her body into something that defied genetics. She was something entirely different and for a moment Remus had to watch her closely to ascertain that this _was_ Nymphadora Tonks and that he wasn't staring at someone else. But no matter how many times Tonks changed herself, she always had the same smile, the same voice, the same laugh. So then why, Remus pondered, why had she changed herself into the antithesis of the image she tried to project? Why had she diverted so suddenly from the curvy, imperfect image she seemed to prefer into some thin-as-paper blonde with flawless features, who looked exactly like the ideal woman was supposed to look like?

_You really should be going now_, something in his head chided sternly as he furrowed his brow in thought and he ignored the annoying voice. It took him perhaps two minutes before he zeroed in on the cover of her book, the illustration of a perfected blonde woman dressed in tight robes clinging to a wizard.

"What are you doing?" he blurted loudly before he could stop himself. The unexpected noise caused her to drop her novel and nearly upset her mug. A million reasons as to why he had been standing silently in the doorway popped into his head and he felt the heat of embarrassment kindle when her shocked gaze met his.

But she didn't seem annoyed or freaked out or anything of the nature—it took her no time at all to answer his question. "What?" she asked. Before he could answer with something that would undoubtedly be stupid, she looked down at herself. "Bollocks!" she exclaimed loudly. "Don't tell me I've gone and done this again!" A series of popping noises ensued and she reverted to what she usually looked like. "You must think I'm stupid," she continued, a pinkish blush staining her pale cheeks. "Getting so involved in a book as to unintentionally morph into the main character."

"There's nothing wrong with getting involved with a book," Remus said mildly, trying to devise a way to get out of the room without hurting her...without doing something that was highly immoral.

"But I _shouldn't _be getting _involved _with this book," Tonks said rather quickly, as though she was nervous. (_See, look_, said the voice in Remus' head. _You're unnerving her_.) "It's trash, not worth anyone's time. It's the corniest thing I've ever read but I find it amusing even though it's supposed to be serious and I'm supposed melt into a steaming puddle of hormones after each paragraph, but all it does is make me laugh because I'm not exactly what you'd call a _woman-woman_, if you catch my drift and why anyone would want to spend money on this is beyond me, but my mum had it on her shelf and I was bored, so I took it, even though she'll be angry because I've already spilled hot chocolate on it twice." Tonks rounded off this breathy-sounding run-on sentence by taking an abrupt, deep gulp from her cup and consequently choking on it. Involuntarily, Remus stepped forward as she coughed but she shook her head and choked out, "I'm fine, don't bother." The flush on her face had deepened to a bright red and an awkward silence came into existence after she stopped coughing.

"I should go," Remus said, feeling unruffled as he stepped backwards one pace, back to where he had started.

"No, wait! What?" Tonks said, sounding fairly confused.

"I'm making you uncomfortable," Remus said uncomfortably, feeling stupid.

"No, you're not," she said, but she wasn't meeting his gaze. At that, he felt quite sure that she wanted him to go and not return, even though they had held easy-flowing conversations before, even though she'd never displayed an aversion to him before this night. Maybe she _had_ noticed him standing in the doorway, watching her, and she resented him for it. What right did an old werewolf have to watch a girl as young as she was with a sort of insatiable hunger? None whatsoever.

"It's okay," he said quietly, turning to leave into the hallway. "I didn't mean to disturb you." Even as he was leaving, even as he felt irritation flare in his stomach, he still wanted her in a way that was entirely inappropriate.

"What?" she said for a third time, sounding highly flustered. "Remus, wait!" He felt he hand close on his sleeve, surprising him with the agile way she had moved across the room, because usually she tripped over things when she tried to be fast. Slowly he turned to look at her, just wanting to leave before things got more complicated.

"It's just," she said once his gaze had locked with hers, "I—I'm sorry."

"There's nothing to be sorry for," he said.

She hated how he made her act like a child again—she thought she had outgrown the habit of blabbering when she was around someone she fancied. Usually she could pride herself on her coolness, her ability to act like desire wasn't clogging her brain, making her mouth conform around clumsy words. She was angry, because this had only begun happening recently—before she had been able to talk with him without losing her head entirely. Around him she was still thirteen years old, letting hormones control her life. Sometimes she wanted him so much, she could practically touch it. Like now, right now, as her fingers tingled on his forearm, reluctant to release their grip. All of a sudden, she knew she wouldn't be able to stand waiting around for him—his moral codes were too stringent; he'd never give in on his own...so she'd have to make him surrender in her own special way.

Even as she thought this, her heart yammered even quicker in her chest cavity. _It's the twentieth century_, she told herself. _Women are assertive; they have every right to take the initiative_. Still, although she had a job where every action was based on just exactly how much courage she had and what she did with it, she mightn't have done anything, had not Remus stroked the side of her face in the lightest possible way with his free hand. She looked up into the amber of his eyes and saw the shock that registered there, as if he had done it without meaning to. But she saw something else, something familiar; something that made her stand on her toes and press her mouth desperately to his.

A millisecond before their lips had met, she was worried that she was making an enormously wrong presumption, worried that he would roughly push her away and ask her just what the_ hell_ she was doing. But a millisecond after they connected, she was sure that this was undeniably _right_. All clumsiness that she had just been feeling around him evaporated as he pulled her into him, molding her body to his.

If Tonks had been asked to speculate on the way Remus kissed a day before, she would've shared that she imagined he kissed like he acted—mildly, softly. This—this was wholly different. This was a desperate, hungry kiss, as if he was starving and she was the only thing that could quell his need. This was passion and the result of weeks and weeks of unresolved and unacknowledged tension. She'd never felt this way when kissing before, weak-kneed and drugged. All the romance-novel clichés that she had just been laughing at, she was feeling all of them. She lost all sense of thought, not noticing the point where she opened his mouth to his, nor when he pushed her backwards onto the couch before pulling her into his lap. All she felt, all she wanted to know was him and the feel of his hands resting on her waist, the way his lips felt as they bonded with hers.

This was exactly why Remus should've kept walking when he heard her laugh. He had been stupid to think he could resist her, should've realized that years of denying himself would culminate in this. Yes, she had started it, but he didn't have to advocate it, did he? This was madness through and through, yet he still kept kissing her. He knew that he should stop her but he kept telling himself, just ten seconds more. It was as if he was addicted to her, the way she moved beneath his hands, against his lips. He felt as though if he were to listen to reason and move away from her that he would fall apart...but if he stayed attached, he would tear her apart. It took every ounce of willpower for him to finally make the decision to pull away.

They were both breathing heavier than normal when they stopped, and Remus could see that her lips were red and swollen. And all he wanted, more than anything, was to keep kissing those lips. But he couldn't because that would be _wrong_ and unfair. But she evidently didn't think so, because two moments later she was kissing him again, and this time Remus almost wasn't able to stop.

"What's wrong?" she asked in a voice that was almost a growl.

"This isn't app-ro—pia—te," Remus ground out haltingly as she moved her hands lightly over his chest, almost as if she was trying to make him loose control and take her right then and there.

"Why not?" she whispered, her hair tickling the side of his face as she moved her mouth by his ear.

"Because I'm old," Remus said. "And you're no—" He faltered as she began to place feather-light kisses on the side of his neck Slowly, driving him mad, she worked her way down to the neckline of his sweater before leaning back a little and moving her face dangerously close to his.

"I," she said, kissing the underside of his jaw. "Don't," another kiss, this time on his chin, "Care." She placed the last kiss just to the right of his mouth and before withdrawing to the point where she was mere centimeters from touching her mouth to his again, her eyes so close to his. "Do me a favor tonight, Remus, just one favor," she whispered, almost pleadingly.

"What?" he breathed, and it seemed to her as if he was fighting tooth and nail not to kiss her again.

"Forget all your morals and inhibitions and just let it _happen_." There were two seconds of ringing silence...and then Remus closed the small space between their faces and kissed her hungrily. It was wrong, he knew it, but he couldn't fight any damn longer.

It didn't take long before kissing wasn't enough. Remus wanted to be on top of her, inside of her; he wanted to fill her as much as he possibly could. Without really knowing it, he moved his mouth to her neck alternately kissing and nipping the pale skin. She was breathing his name in half-moans and he could feel her tugging at his jumper. Separating only long enough for her to remove it, he began working on the buttons of her blouse in turn,, kissing every inch of skin he exposed. She was working on his belt buckle as he pulled the shirt from her shoulders, the desperation mounting. He wanted her _now_ and the clothing became an annoyance as they both struggled to get it off. Remus was past caring that this was wrong, because it certainly felt too good.

All he wanted now was her.

And let everything else be damned.

fin


End file.
